


haemoglobin

by leprixx



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Dialogue, First Meetings, Friendship, M/M, Minor Kim Jaejoong/Jung Yunho, Minor Kim Jaejoong/Park Yoochun, Slice of Life, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leprixx/pseuds/leprixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaejoong is a writer. Life writes itself.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>(He texts Changmin, after; '<i>i can't seem to keep the things i want (to keep, have, know, create). i can't keep doing this - words are such powerful things, and i'm losing them. i'm sorry for bothering you</i>.')</p>
            </blockquote>





	haemoglobin

  
jae: 22 [army]- 24   
yun: 22 - 24   
yoo: 21 - 23   
jun: 21 - 23   
min: 18 - 20 

 

  
Jaejoong is a writer, drifting through countries and fragrances, looking through and searching for inspiration.   
On his way, he meets several people and tries and tries to write about them (he ends up painting, instead, drawing lips and eyes and arches of cheeks and spines on napkins and menus. it's never what he's been looking for, but always kept in his small folder), fails, tries again on the next person and next place, sometimes ignoring phone calls and others calling through days and nights, bags collecting under his eyes and dreams falling from his grasp as he keeps and keeps going. 

 

\-- 

There are few things Jaejoong truly loves - his family, a few friends, but mostly this - the fiction he weaves when he's all alone in the bus home with only his notebook to keep him company. Sometimes it's a romance that ends in funeral, others is a sad story with a happy ending and all written in japanese, in hopes of hiding himself even though he knows that it'll only expose more. 

Then he receives a phone call and just like that, he's in the army, head full of possibilities - a romance of two bunk mates, maybe a lonely soldier meeting a japanese woman, maybe an empire rising and falling despite the intemperance and inexorability of time, maybe- 

Nothing. The army is cold and impersonal, full of men who gave up their dreams for duty. (He tries to write about that, too, but in the end his hand hurts, his pen fails, his lips break and his fingers scratch.) He writes two lines on his first week, almost a full one on his third week and settles for sketching threes on his seventh week. From then on, the military passes on unchanging, him no more than a drone following orders and reassigning them once he steps higher into the hierarchical ladder. 

\-- 

There's no one waiting once he gets out. His house is not dusty - he had asked his mom to keep it clean and he guesses on her hiring a maid to do it every once in a while - but it tastes like old. He lights a cigarette and sits on his bed, feeling the mattress sink under his weight. Not even his cats are there. The idea of contacting his publishing company fades as soon as it appears - he has nothing to offer and there's still some money on his deposit from his first (and only) best seller book. 

\-- 

"I should get out" He says, as he hears the ding and clonk of his mother cooking. (Out out out and away, away from the fear of not being enough, away from the self that hasn't written a single worthy paragraph in god knows how long, away-). 

\-- 

Up-country Spain has a soft, warm glow. Barcelona grows, leaves him burning fingertips and twitchy eyes. Paris burns itself, hot liquid pouring down his throat and food melting inside his mouth. Italy makes him sleepy and dangerous - this time the burn is on his skin, the melt is of his conscience and the glow is from too many lights blurring themselves as he downs another bottle. From there, he takes a plane to Japan because _it's the last place_ and at least he speaks japanese and that should be worth something, that should- 

\-- 

 

  
first he meets junsu, in japan  
  
Just as he's stepping out of the plane, trying not to trip on his bag while reading the board sign that either said something about exit or bank deposit.

" _Hey_ " Jaejoong curses, reels back and brings his bag up with a jolt. " _Hey, you. Can you understand japanese? Heyyyy_ " Jaejoong looks up, startled, when a hand touches the top of his head. "Ummm." The guy sways from one feet to the other, looking unsure. "Er. Korean?" 

"Yes?" Jaejoong staggers back. 

"You know japanese?" 

"What- How?- Why are you asking me this?" 

"Erm. Um. So. Hi! My name is Junsu." The guys smiles unsteadily, bows, extends his hand. 

Jaejoong wets his lips, shakes his head and bows, thinking _what the fuck_ while grabbing the stranger's - no, Junsu's - hands and shaking it. "I'm Jaejoong. Kim Jaejoong." 

"Ah, I'm a Kim too. Nice to meet you. So, you speak japanese? Do you need help? What are you doing here?" 

"I. How old are you?" Jaejoong takes half a step back. 

"Twenty-three, why?" 

"Oh." 

Junsu sways a bit, again. "Well. It doesn't really matter, right? I mean. Well!" His smile stretches, falters. "... This will sound really, really weird and I'm sorry, but..." 

"But?" 

"Can we be friends? Please" 

Jaejoong blinks, thinks of promises half-forgotten, of ashtrays filled with his cigarettes and cigarettes filled with someone-elses. 

"Okay." Junsu looks startled for a second but then he recovers and gives the brightest, prettiest smile Jaejoong had ever seen and he thinks that wow, this whole trip might as well be over because that smile only is worth all the money he paid for it. 

Junsu takes him shopping, to a park, to a thousand places he'd been to before and another thousand he had never dared to imagine. They part with smiles, and Jaejoong only realizes that they didn't exchange numbers when it's already too late and Junsu's thousands of kilometers away. 

 

  
and then changmin, when he closes his eyes and flies back home   
  
"Hey, watch where you're going" 

Jaejoong looks at whoever said that, instead, and imagines Junsu twisting that into something japanese and horribly hilarious. "You're where I'm going to" he blurts then, because, honestly? spending time with Junsu was probably the easiest way to lose your mind. 

The guy stares at him for a while, lips long, set into something ugly, full. "Are you insane? Are you trying to sexually harass me? I will call the police." 

"You're ugly." 

"You're prettier than my sisters." The guy frowns, stares at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you one of those idols or something? Is this a joke? A mission? Because I'm not interested." 

"I'm Kim Jaejoong." He says, because there's something about the guy - something about the slant of his jaw, the tip of his nose- 

"I know shit about idols nowadays so that means nothing to me." 

"Not an idol or insane or trying to sexually harass you." - There's something about this guy that makes him want to write until his fingertips are bleeding. "Might be a bit drunk, though. Want to be drunk? With you?" He adds, because most of the time, writing feels like drinking, like letting a blur overcome everything and- 

There's a long stretch of silence in which the guy just stares at him. It's a bit unnerving but not as much as watching him shift his bag to another shoulder, sigh, crane his neck until popping noises are heard. 

"Where are you even coming from?" 

".... Japan?" Jaejoong raises one eyebrow and points at the obnoxious japanese print on his shirt, the thousand stickers with the japanese flag covering almost every inch of his suitcase - all gifts of an over-enthusiastic Junsu. 

"I meant which hospice." 

"Alcohol first?" He asks, but the guy shakes his head. 

"Look. I'm busy right now. Can't really deal with whatever craziness you have going on." 

Jaejoong gulps, swallows back inspiration and newness. "Oh. Okay. I. I'm sorry, then." And he turns back to go away before the tears start falling because he was just. So. Close. 

He's seven footsteps of disappointed misery away when there's a warm hand on his shoulder, swallowing his bones. There's no more courage or idiocy in him so he just stands still as a sigh sounds above his ear, rattling his bones and desires. 

"Here. My number." A slip of paper is pressed to his closed fist and there's another sigh, slightly exasperated, when he doesn't react. "There's no need to-" The guy turns to face him and stops as their eyes meet. "Shit. Are you crying?" 

"No, I." Jaejoong chokes. "I'm... Sorry. I just." 

"Shit. Look, I-" The breast pocket in Stranger's shirt begins to buzz. "Really have to go. Name is Changmin. Call me, okay?" Changmin shoves the paper between Jaejoong's parted lips before turning and leaving, long legs hurrying away. 

 

  
he meets junsu again, this time with his brother, when he goes back to japan, eyes weary   
  
"Heyyyy hyung!" 

Jaejoong looks up and finds Junsu, this time with the hair dyed blond, same shade as his. 

"Are you stalking me?" He asks, even as he smiles and moves forward to hug him. Junsu laughs, that long, loud, intoxicating laugh of his and squeezes him a bit more before stepping back. 

"No, hyung" 

"That's a bit hard to believe" He says, following as Junsu starts walking, threading his way through the people loitering the airport with the easiness of someone who took too many late-night flies. "Anyway," he sits in the table of a japanese restaurant and messes with his bags as Junsu examines the menu. "What are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for my brother" Junsu mumbles, before sliding the menu to him and pointing to a dish without looking up. "Want to share this?" 

"Ah, sure" 

Junsu smiles and calls a waiter, who bows after getting their order. "Your hair looks nice" 

"Junsu..." 

"Oh, look, there he is!" Junsu stands up and Jaejoong is left to blink at the empty chair in front of him as Junsu half-jogs to the international arrival gate, waving frantically before jumping and wrapping himself around a tall form. Jaejoong realizes that that's how Junsu had seen him, what with the perfect view the table had of the arrival gate. 

_This can be nice_ , he thinks, as Junsu and the guy start walking towards him, resemblance clear on their features. _I can and will make this nice_ , he decides, as the guy introduces himself with "Junho" and a smile almost as bright as Junsu's. 

 

  
is saved by yunho in a restaurant   
  
He's about to take the first bite of an overprice strand of pasta when it hits. Like a train, like a blow to the chest and a kick to the gut - it twitches his fingers and twists his tongue, teeth biting down in air and words. 

And then he trips over his own feet right after throwing half the content of his wallet on the table to make up for the mess of scrambled food and drinks. 

"Oh god" Jaejoong says to himself, hands trembling already, vision blurring. He can feel it slipping away, slithering from between the lobes of his brain and escaping through his medulla, right in front of him, right in fucking- 

"Hey." Jaejoong blinks and finds a hand right in front of his face, a beautiful male hand, complete with tan skin and short fingernails. "Come on," The owner of said hand urges when Jaejoong does nothing more than blink again. A sigh, and then Guy With Nice Hands crouches in front of him. "Are you okay?" 

No. "Fuck." It's gone. The guy shakes his head and helps Jaejoong up - there's a mole right above his upper lip, and his nose is straight, proud, perfect. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck." 

"Glad I could help, huh." The guy gives a self-deprecating smile, hands coming up to steady Jaejoong when his knees falter. 

"I. Fuck." Jaejoong waves his hands in the air with a vague motion of despair, scrambling, searching - but he knows already, knows that it's gone. _How long had it been gone for_?, he wonders, feeling his insides shrivel and give out a last piteous whine. "I just. Lost it." 

The guy blinks, face rearranging. "I'm sorry?" 

"No, I. I'm really sorry." Jaejoong sighs, defeated, shoulders slumping. "I'm Jaejoong." 

"...Yunho. Nice to meet you?" He laughs, low, inviting, warm. Slightly unsure. 

Jaejoong hums. "Yeah, nice to meet you." He reaches up to ruffle his own hair. "Look I... Am really sorry?" Lets out a laugh of his own - embarrassed. Absently thinking that maybe this Yunho guy could distract him from the feeling of loss and helplessness. 

"It's okay." 

"No, I was an asshole, huh." Lips closed but tilted upwards. "Why don't you let me make it up for you- the bar across the street?" 

Yunho considers him, all slanted eyes and perfectly-shaped lips. "How about the club above the bar?"   
Jaejoong lets on a grin at that. "I think I'll like you." 

Yunho laughs, coming closer, throwing an arm around Jaejoong. "I hope you will." 

 

Jaejoong ends up telling Yunho all about words escaping from him, about words running behind his eyelids and how hell was the way they kept escaping him for the past few years. Yunho nods, sincere, interested, but it turns up that Jaejoong has a much higher alcohol tolerance than the younger man and that he sounds confused when Jaejoong calls him the next day to apologize. ("Well, I'm don't think I understand what you're talking about... But you could make it up for me by going to that new club that just opened with me next friday?" And Jaejoong agrees without thinking twice.) 

 

  
and kissed by yoochun in consequence   
  
Yunho leaves early one night, pretty blonde girl tucked under his arm after Jaejoong smiles and nods them away. 

The smile is bitter but there's no need for Yunho to know that - Jaejoong tries to see things from the bright side, and Yunho was good enough as a friend, _wasting him in a boyfriend-boyfriend thing would've been a bad idea anyway, right_? Well, at least that's what Jaejoong concludes as he downs another glass of soju in toast of pretty blonde girl. Pretty blond fuck, all spread on Yunho's sheets while he grunts and moans and growls and drives into her, fast, sweaty, hot- 

"Hello, gorgeous." A hand snakes itself around Jaejoong's waist, fingers dipping inside his shirt. He turns around and finds black, long hair. Plump bottom lip, collar bones poking almost indecently from under a white shirt. 

"He-" 

"I want to kiss you." The stranger smiles. Jaejoong tries to think about it but to be honest... Well, the guy smells kind of nice. And Yunho is gone with pretty blonde girl. So instead of answering he tilts his head up and waits for the guy to kiss him. "You taste good." 

"I taste like soju." 

"That's a good taste" Jaejoong can't deny that and so pulls the guy back for more. 

 

"Wait." He says, later, as the guy presses him to the softness of his mattres. "Wait, what's his name?" 

"What?" The guy frowns, going back from hovering above Jae to kneeling. 

"I mean, I. Your name. What's your name?" Jaejoong waves his hands quickly, feeling soju leave him. Shit. 

"Yoochun." The guy - Yoochun - cocks an eyebrow, gives him a grin full of pretty white teeth. "Why, you want to know what you'll be screaming tonight?" 

"I'm Jaejoong. Um. Twenty four years old?" His erection is waning already. Yoochun grunts and goes back to hovering above him. "Am a writer." His hands go around Yoochun's shoulder, half-stilling half-pushing away. "Or used to be?" 

"Hmmm nice." Yoochun bites his earlobe, not sounding in the least interested, hands gripping Jaejoong's waist and pulling their bodies close, away from the bed. 

“A prodigy. I was a prodigy.” Jaejoong says, leaning back. Yoochun’s lips slide against the soft skin of his throat. “Sorry. I’m not really in the mood for…” He makes a wide gesture with his hands, looks at Yoochun apologetically. 

“Hm.” Yoochun blinks, back to kneeling and Jaejoong waits for curses, the sound of his footsteps fading away. “Tell me more?” 

“What” 

“I was a prodigy, too. Once. You know. Tell me more.” 

Jaejoong shifts as Yoochun sits on his thighs, feeling all the air in his lungs leave in a rush of understand and fitting and belonging. And so he talks, and talks, and talks until Yoochun is smiling and crying and confessing right along with him. 

(He texts Changmin, after; ' _i can't seem to keep the things i want (to keep, have, know, create). i can't keep doing this - words are such powerful things, and i'm losing them. i'm sorry for bothering you_.', looking at the expanse of Yoochun's back as the other snuggled further into the warm covers, daylight creating shadows as it weaves around bones and curves. ) 

 

  
He ends up back home and his folder is brimming with pieces and pictures but not what he wants, not what he's looking for, not what he desires. He can only find and create and write weak stories, stories that anyone else could write, but that's not what he wants. He wants a masterpiece, he wants something able to make war-men cry, he wants something beautiful and idyllic and somewhat sad, too, he wants something painted gold and green and only slightly red, with the blue background and rose streaks. 

 

And then Changmin calls. "What do you want", He asks, on his third-night-in-a-row awake, "What could you possibly want from me", He almost-wails, fingers trembling with coffee and lips red from the despair of writing it _wrong_. 

"You", Changmin says, "I want you." 

"How could you-" 

"I can fix you", Changmin says, "But tell me your address first." 

"Look-" 

"And you better not fucking be living in a hospice or else I will kill you" 

 

  
"What's the use of you being here", He asks, the next day, hair greasy and cheek red by resting its weight on an aching fist 

"I'm here for you", Changmin says, butting his way in, arranging his shoes neatly before entering the house with watchful eyes, backpack hanging from his left shoulder. "Go take a bath" 

"Bath?" He asks, disbelieving. 

"Shower, I don't care. Go. I won't steal anything." Changmin looks older, manlier with the way his hair falls now, glare gone - relaxed. He looks breathtaking. 

 

  
Jaejoong turns the shower on and looks up as the water his his face, burning his eyes. He feels like a machine, something that could maybe, someday, be what he wanted. Not now, though. Now he's a vessel waiting to be used, now he's- 

"Hey, these are your pyjamas, right?" Changming asks, entering the bathroom without a care. Jaejoong screams. "Oh stop this chastity. Here, pyjamas?" 

"Pyjamas," Jaejoong says, half-cowered on the corner of his shower. "Yes, these are my pyjamas." 

"Great, be fast" 

 

  
"What are you up to", He asks, eyes narrowed and body half-arched inwards as he goes out of the bathroom in his pyjamas, finding Changmin sitting on his couch with crossed legs 

"Have you brushed your teeth yet? Changmin asks, rummaging through his backpack. 

"… No" 

"Okay, then let's do it together", He takes a green toothbrush and pushes Jaejoong back to the bathroom. 

They brush their teeth in silence, Jaejoong staring at Changmin through his reflection on the mirror. 

"Hyung," Says Changmin, hitting his shoulder with a closed fist. "You're an adult male brushing his teeth, not a kid. Come on." 

 

They sleep together, that night, Changmin curled around Jaejoong's back but not quite touching him. Jaejoong lays there for all five minutes freaking out before Changmin's feet touch his, and then he relaxes, bit by bit, until he sleeps. 

Changmin isn't there, next morning, but 

 

A week later there's a message from Yoochun on his phone's voicemail, asking him to meet at a cafe two blocks from his home at 7pm. He doesn't remember ever giving Yoochun his number but agrees, goes there with dark jeans, black t-shirt and a smile. 

 

  
"Hey", He says, nervous. 

"Sit down," Yoochun pushes a glass of something alcoholic his way, "My friend will start singing soon" 

"Oh?" In question, but Yoochun just smiles and raises his cup. 

They wait for a few minutes and Jaejoong thinks he should be surprised when Junsu gets on stage and starts singing the saddest song he's heard in the past few years, but he's not. There's only this warmth, spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers and it manifests on his face, when the three hours ends and 

 

Junsu comes to join them. 

"Hello", Says Junsu, big smile in place .

"Hello," Jaejoong says back, mirroring him, standing up and getting close. 

"It's been a while", Junsu teases. 

"And it's nice seeing the smile you hide behind that hand, huh," Yoochun laughs, and Junsu joins with a loud bark of his own laugh as Jaejoong blushes and clumsily tries to sit down and hide at the same time. 

 

Later, he learns that the song was written by Yoochun, lyrics and all. He stares open-mouthed for a while before asking, "Please, please teach me" 

 

  
"Hey, we should get a tattoo", Yoochun says after Jaejoong comes back from the water, Junsu trailing behind with a bounce on his step. It's three weeks later from when they first met together. 

"We should?" Jaejoong asks, arching his left eyebrow 

"You already have one anyway. It'd be nice." Yoochun stretches some more from where he's laying on the sand. 

"Huh," Junsu says, ignoring the beer Yoochun offers him and reaching for the bottle of orange juice. 

 

  
They get a tattoo, together, at the last friday of the month. By then Jaejoong has acquired the habit of writing when he wakes up instead of writing in place of sleeping that he had before. 

He comes home after the tattoo, still hurting from the needle and finds Changmin sitting on his front door. 

"Hey" 

"Changmin?" 

"It's been a while." 

Jaejoong lets him in. (Changmin has a bigger bag than last time.) 

 

They sleep together, and when Jaejoong wakes, Changmin is there, soft eyes watching him carefully. 

"Hello", he says, almost whispers 

"I've read your story", Changmin says, coming closer 

"Oh" 

"Yes." 

"I..." 

"And the song too." 

"How-" 

"Beautiful." Changmin raises a hand, drifts it close to his cheek, lets it rest on the curve of his neck. "Almost as beautiful as you" 

"Changmin-" 

"Jaejoong?" 

"I haven't-" 

"What?" 

"Found..." 

"Found what" 

"Myself. My story. My ending. I-" 

"Shh." 

"No, I-" 

"There's nothing to be found". Changmin's mouth is sweet against him. Jaejoong freezes. Changmin kisses him slowly, and then he's lost, clambering his way above Changmin, heart beating crazily-fast, hands sweating. 

"Changmin, I" 

"Great stories don't need endings", Changmin answers, hands gripping his hips. 

"Changmin." He says, suddenly desperate, frantic, trembling with the need to own and possess. 

"What?" Changmin's sucking on his neck, body hot and pliant and open to study beneath him. 

"Changmin, I don't know your last name, I-" 

Changmin laughs, kissing the skin he was previously abusing, and pulls him into another kiss, whispering his last name between a lick to his upper lip and a nip to his lower. 

  
.   
.   
.   
.   
.   
.   
  
jaejoong dreams of falling down a cliff, climbing a tree, dipping his head on a waterfall and afterwards laying on soft grass.   
"wake up" he listens, warm against his jaw, pulling a shiver out of him and an arch of his back as something liquid grazes the side of his knee.   
"min-ah" he puffs, moan weaving with whatever he was supposed to say and something settles against his throat.   
"don't talk" and then it fastens, something soft but unyielding. jaejoong raises suddenly trembling hands and touches cold leather. his eyes find the top of changmin's head as he starts lowering himself, mouth barely touching jaejoong's skin, teeth grazing a nipple before going sideways, pressing at his ribs, nipping at the rise of his hipbone.   
jaejoong's hands fall to his side, curl on themselves for a few seconds and he parts his lips, about to speak when he remembers himself and covers his mouth, teeth digging on his own flesh when his erection touches the curve of changmin's neck.

**Author's Note:**

> i have given so much of myself for this and i love/hate it so much. fic #44, originally posted on livejournal (May 27, 2012). there are so many people i could thank for this, mostly for their endless patience but also for sticking with me through my whining and crying. might revise later.
> 
> also is that a collar on the bonus scene, you ask? yes it fucking is.


End file.
